


Of Dresses And T-shirts

by VesperCat



Series: Timothée Chalamet/Amrie Hammer fics [6]
Category: Armie Hammer - Fandom, Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Timothée Chalamet - Fandom
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Manipulation, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-11-29 12:50:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18223385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VesperCat/pseuds/VesperCat
Summary: He blinks twice, making absolutely certain that the sight that greets him isn't a figment of his wildest imagination.





	Of Dresses And T-shirts

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the friend who read and made suggestions and changes.

After an exhausting day of filming, Armie could pass out in his car but a bed won't cause a stiff neck and confusion once he is awake again. The gate's clang when closed sparks Armie into action, grabbing his tog bag from the passenger's seat and heading to his front door.

Armie adjusts the sling of the grey bag before reaching into his sweats for the house's keys. After battling the door the key finally turns all the way and the door clicks open. Sighing, Armie enters but immediately pauses with his hand on the golden handle, blindly pushing it closed again.

He blinks twice, making absolutely certain that the sight that greets him isn't a figment of his wildest imagination and dreams.

Timothée is sitting cross-legged on the living room floor while little Harper towers above him as she stands on the cream coloured couch behind him. Timothée holds a mirror in place with an adorable grin on his face as Harper yaps on about why bows are better than ribbons. Paw Patrol plays in the background while Harper is adorning Timothée's dark locks with most of her colourful hair bows as best as her little fingers could.

Armie's face lightens up but he rolls his eyes in disbelief. Talk about pastel paradise. Even Archie has a bow on his rust red and grey collar. There is no doubt that Harper is Elizabeth's daughter.

The quiet playfulness is interrupted when Armie drops his tog bag too loudly on the oak wood floor. However, only Timothée notices Armie arrival. He places the mirror on the nearby coffee table and turns his head towards the door. Much to Harper's dislike when she tries to readjust his head.

"Harper, look who's back," Timothée smiles warmly, before lifting her into his arms and carrying her to Armie as best as he can.

"Hey," Timothée says as Harper reaches out to be in Armie's arms instead. Timothée obliges and carefully hands the young girl to Armie.

"Look, daddy, a new shirt!" Harper exclaims in excitement and pulls the shirt down to show the blonde dog printed on the dark blue t-shirt.

"And did you say thank you?" Armie asks, feeding on his daughter's infectious joy, his mood lifting with how right this feels.

Harper rolls her eyes and mutters as if Armie should know this by now, "Yes, Daddy! Always."

Timothée fails to hide his smile. Armie gently presses his lips on Harper's temple and she immediately fusses. Armie gently puts her down on the wooden floor and she runs off to Archie.

Armie turns back to Timothée and makes sure that his voice drops below a whisper and asks: "What is she wearing?"

"Well she said she was uncomfortable in the dress she was wearing," Timothée says shrugging.

"So I asked if she wanted to change into a t-shirt. But then she said she didn't have any t-shirts and didn't want to wear her pyjamas as it was "not sleep time yet," Timothée smiles, briefly looking back at her, “and I figured that even my t-shirts were going to be too big for her, so why not let her choose her own t-shirt in her size,"

Armie takes in the mess that is Timothée's hair and turns back to look at Harper, who beams and gives them an enthusiastic wave when she notices the pair looking at her.

Armie smiles but there's despair in his tone, "We need to hide it before Liz gets back,"

"I can keep it with me until my filming is finished," Timothée nervously clears his throat, his hand going to the back of his head then curling around his waist, "if that's not too weird or anything."

"We'll-" a look of panic washes on Armie's face, “wait, where's Ford?"

"Elizabeth took him with her when she left," Timothée starts and then murmurs, "probably to parade him around,"

Just as Armie is about to reply, defending the honour of the mother of his children, the property gates squeak open.

"Quick, Armie. Go get Harper to bath," Timothée suggests quietly.

Armie smiles, the adrenaline and panic skyrocketing and making the T-shirt crime comical.

"Fine!" Armie whisper shouts, "Hold down the fort, will you?"

Armie rushes to Harper, slowing down as not to scare the young child and kneels in front of her.

"Do you want to play a game?" Armie coaxes the little girl impatiently.

Harper slowly looks up, seemingly uninterested in leaving her tea party with Archie early. Armie looks over his shoulder, briefly checking for Elizabeth before he gently pulls Harper into his arms and hurriedly walks into the en suite.

"Wait! Daddy! You said we were playing a game!" Harper starts whining at the prospect of bath time.  
"It is a game, honey. Finding Nemo, or something like that," Armie begins filling the running bath with some bubble bath and adds, "in the bubble bath."

Sold on the idea, the child beams and Armie secretly fist pumps.

+×+×+×+ 

In the other room, Elizabeth struts in. Her sleeping son hanging on one side of her and a bag clutched underneath the other arm. She rolls her eyes at Timothée standing awkwardly, waiting to greet her.

"Where is Armie," she asks immediately, and adds an after thought, "and my daughter, Harper?"

Timothée motions at nothing in particular as he mumbles, "Uh. He's in... Early bath time."

Elizabeth pins him with a stark look and Timothée starts pulling the shaped material out of his hair, shaking his head a few seconds as he attempts to tame some of the curls.

"What on earth?" Elizabeth steps backward as if Timothée's hair is infected with hair lice or something worse.

"Harper wanted to be a hairdresser- stylist person," Timothée explains, "How's Ford doing?"

Elizabeth pulls Ford closer to her and barks, "He's sleeping,"

Elizabeth struts towards the main bedroom, following the sounds of Harper's giggle. Leaving Timothée in the great room, listening to rhythmic beat of her cold heart in the form of red bottom heels.

"I'll just be here," Timothée says to her back, deflated.

+×+×+×+

Armie ruffles through the discarded clothes, looking for the t-shirt and stuffing it down the front of his pants when he hears the tell-tale click of heels on the tiled floors. The clicking stops and Armie looks back. Liz leans against the door frame, smiling affectionately at her husband and child.

"Hi, Liz," Armie acknowledges his wife but immediately frowns, "Is Ford alright?"

"Why's everyone obsessed with Ford today? Yes. He is just asleep," Liz rolls her eyes, "I am capable of taking care of my children, you know."

Armie clenches his jaw and looks away, not wanting to argue with her while Harper is around, "You should put him down. I'm sure you've got other things you need to do."

"Well then, someone seems to be excited to see me," Elizabeth comments scornfully.

Armie moves his hands to his front, "Maybe later. Could you check on Harper, she's in the bathtub,"

"Sure," Elizabeth gives an almost fake smile and proceeds to the bathroom.

Armie sags against the nearest wall in relief, pulling the small shirt out and rushing out to find Timothée.

He stops in the doorway, observing Timothée as he carefully gathers the hair bows strewn about into their box, feeling more comfortable, at home even.

"Is it-How did-" Timothée jabbers when he notices Armie and gets up from the floor, box still in hand.

"It's alright," Armie exhales, gently placing the t-shirt on top of the open box, fingers unnecessarily brushing against Timothée’s, "for now,”

The tell-tale click-clack of Elizabeth's red bottoms disrupts the moment of silence and before either male could do anything, she has the t-shirt in her hands.

"What's this?" She asks, opening the folded t-shirt.  
"Oh. It's a shirt, I bought. It's for Harper,"

"It's lovely but Harper doesn't wear t-shirts,"

Timothée counters with, "Even the Countess of Carladès doesn't wear dresses and stockings all the time," 

The tightly made ponytail swings as Elizabeth gives Timothée a deadly look and the younger man swallows nervously. Armie knows better than to interfere when Elizabeth has set her mind on something but he does shuffle slightly towards Timothée.

"I'll just return it then,"

Elizabeth smiles widely and tosses the t-shirt on Timothée's shoulder and takes the box of bows.

“Please tell me you aren't actually going to return the shirt,” Armie begs when Elizabeth is out of hearing range.

“Never! Besides the tag was ripped off as soon as we got here,” Timothée says, taking the shirt to re-fold it in his way.

“Do you ever think that things would be easier if you were born in a different year?”

Timothée stops what he is doing for a second and gazes at Armie, a smile breaking the frown, “Sometimes,”

+×+×+×+

"Come here," Armie urges, opening his arms wide for a hug from Timothée. The small man obliges and gets engulfed by the larger man, both relishing in the safety that each brings to the other.

"I'm sorry about the whole t-shirt debacle, thing," Timothée apologises into Armie's neck.

"Don't worry about it too much, okay," Armie reassures, "try not to over think it,"

They both produce small smiles and pull away when Timothée's flight is announced.

"Keep it and Harper can wear it when we come to New York again,"


End file.
